Trials of another Great War
by 000TragicSolitude
Summary: A series of vignettes that places certain characters of Remnant within the world of the First World War, and it's direct aftermath.
1. Divided

"_It is a matter of immeasurable importance to the Allied Powers and the future itself for Russia to be stabilized, unless we desire another terrible Great War. If other leaders refuse to intervene, we'll simply have to take matters into our own hands._" - James Ironwood, 1918

**1919**

The setting sun shined across the wide and calm waters of the Volga River as it ran crimson with blood. Nevertheless, watching it eased the woman's mind. This river was the soul of Russia itself, yet she could not ignore its current state. Not too long ago, she and her brethren were united against the outside hoard of the damned Central Powers. Now, she thought against those who corrupted and destroyed the governing system with its ideals within her own homeland. She fought the Bolsheviks, the Red Army, but they were no longer her own.

She was Voron – the Raven, who commanded a contingent of White Army forces. She was once part of the Women's Battalion of Death, while others wore their Imperial uniforms or Cossack robes. They came from various corners of the former great Empire, yet they were united in their hatred of the Bolsheviks.

She had cleaned her black saber and sheathed it, returning back to the camp at Zevina's ruins, the primary building being what remained of the church. Bodies of Red and White soldiers still lay around, soaking the shining snow with blood or filling up the crude trenches. What remained of her unit did to their best to rest, while others wailed from wounds and the biting cold.

"Raven," She was called out to, "What will happen now?"

The younger woman with the short hair and icy blue eyes was her companion for a long time, serving alongside her ever since they found themselves together in the fields of Galicia. Raven was thankful that she could rely on her, especially now in this chaotic world after the Great War. But Vernal, like everyone else, was tired. Perhaps she couldn't stand killing fellow Russians, but Raven was willing to do what was right – not simply right, but necessary.

"It doesn't seem like we can fight here anymore." She answered.

She looked over the battlefield. Three of the five Mark V tanks burned in the snow, while the two remaining ones could barely function. So much for British engineering. While they crushed the attack of the Reds, one third of her unit was dead, while the rest were either wounded or fatigued. They were low on ammunition. Some time ago, she and Vernal forced peasants to provide them with food, but even that was running low. The devils would certainly attack again after being replenished. For a cabal of undisciplined peasants, they were persistent.

"We've ruined this place enough. We have to go back to Tsaritsyn." Raven said.

"If we do that, we'll be letting them follow us there. We can stop their advance _here, _for good."

"Try saying that to the half-dead men there," She pointed at the camp, "This is a matter of survival. We have a chance at Tsaritsyn."

That was always the plan. Lieutenant-General Wrangel had given clear orders to slow the advance of the Reds on the Volga, but if it was no longer possible, they would retreat to that city where they numbered in the thousands, reinforced with supplies. Wrangel – the keeper of order among the Whites in the south, had succeeded in taking the city after previous attempts failed. In addition, they were assisted by a certain James Ironwood in the capture of the town – the one who organized the donation of Mark V tanks for the White cause. From that symbol of a city, they hoped to launch a decisive assault on Moscow.

"Believe me, I would pierce the chest of every Red traitor myself, but we need to think logically."

"Would you not spare Vorona, as well ?" Vernal asked.

She went silent. Her brother chose to abandon her like a coward, believing that life after this war would be better for them under the Reds than the way things were when they lived under the old order. That was his choice. If he wanted to convince her of this on the battlefield, she had no reason to listen to an enemy. That would be it. She silently left a disappointed Vernal alone to brood, while she mounted her dark mount. She looked at the crystal clear river one last time.

"_Why are you such a fool, brother ?_"

…

**TSARITSYN**

_To the front we go, as communists _

_Oh, little apple, you are made of tin, _

_The Red Army has come to us _

_The Red partisans have arrived_

The Vorona took one last sip from his flask - the last drop of the cheapest vodka, though it is still one luxury they have, along with more supplies brought from the industrial heartland of Moscow by train. It didn't make him feel any better. It was bitterly cold and the sight of the great port city that was gutted from bombings didn't help. His regiment waited for the fight near Demchenko Street.

"Remember our mission, a mission for peace, bread and land ! We will fight to the last man !"

The so-called commissar shouted over them with words of inspiration. They were empty in reality, since these 'new political advisers' accompanied the army to make sure that no one, especially the small number of untrustworthy officers, got out of line. Anyone who wasn't blinded by the glory of revolution knew that, but no one should voice their thoughts about what happens behind the lines. Qrow had no attachment to these ideologies. He wanted to survive.

"The Whites are said to be on their last legs," Dima said next to him, "We can stomp those stuck up royal officers for good."

Dima was exactly the kind of man consumed by those ideals. The young man of Georgian origin proudly wearing his budenovka hat was not very bright, but full of spirit. If the commissar told him to directly charge at the enemy guns, he'd probably do it.

"I wouldn't be too confident." He replied.

"You know, the Voron is apparently right here," He said, a bit of dismissal, "Is that true ?"

"It is."

"What could some woman do to change the inevitable ? I've never understood the fear surrounding her."

"Then you're an idiot."

He winced at the thought of Raven. She stubbornly refused to accept change, to live out the rest of their lives in a new world without the hardship this country endured now and then. She chose to become a butcher for an outdated cause. The fact that she couldn't listen made him angry. For a time, he thought he could still change her mind, but it was stupid to believe that.

"So, what, have you seen her before ?"

"Sure. Now I'll see her again. I guess I'm lucky." He answered grimly.

Disappointed with ending up with an empty flask, he instead picked the eternally useful Mosin-Nagant rifle and strapped it on his back. He looked ahead and he could faintly see the city's cathedral, or what was left of it. He was lost in thought for a moment, but soon he could hear some kind of whistling noise – it got closer and closer, then he realized it.

He pushed Dima down on the ground as a loud bang came crashing down, collapsing the remains of a nearby building. Dima watched in disbelief.

"W-was that meant for us ?"

"Who knows," Qrow said nonchalantly, "Maybe the Voron heard you earlier."

That explosion kicked off the Red advance. The officers shouted orders to run. Hundreds and hundreds of men poured out of the barricaded streets towards the center of the city, where the cathedral was. The Whites started fired first, so they would respond in kind. Ahead, shots already rang.

"You said you didn't get why the Voron is feared," Qrow handed the boy his dropped rifle, "Now you will."

The confidence from before was gone from Dima's face, as he went pale. Nevertheless, they joined the charge, the start of a decisive battle.

…

From horseback, she saw the Red beasts began to move, running en masse towards the fortified White bastion. The revolutionaries emerged out into the killing field, where her soldiers opened fire from entrenched holes with their rifles. The machine guns cut them down Reds, but their sheer number meant that they would eventually break through.

The Red horsemen joined the fight, accompanying the infantry. Raven couldn't standby. She charged too meet head to head, passing her bewildered men on the ground. Her own cavalry followed her, chanting cries that everyone else would hear.

She already carried a spear. The nearest target was an officer who shouted at his men, firing his pistol. As she dashed across the field, the unsuspecting man received the spear through the chest like a bullet that she had thrown.

She continued moving in the same direction, and a Red cavalry man dashed towards her with his saber, intending to cut her down for good. With this distance, he could made it. Raven pulled out her own dark blade. In her mind, she steadily closed the distance between them. Three, two, one …

With a swift swing of the hand, she knew she would triumph. She had cut the man down first across the chest. His body fell like a rag doll, leaving his horse to wander off in panic. She circled back around the battlefield, drawing attention from bullets from the Reds. She evaded fire.

The Reds had gotten closer, little by little. They stormed their trenches and barricades, reducing the fight to a barbaric slug fest. Men charged with fixed bayonets; while others pushed their enemy down to shoot them down at point blank range or beat them, bloodying the snow around them. Her Cossacks had been circling the battle, cutting their targets down with swords and spears. Those not fast enough were blown away from their mounts by stray fire. Blasts from grenades thrown recklessly had been destroying the ground.

In this chaos, she had found Vernal. Behind cover, she shot from her pistol. She hadn't noticed a Red behind her that planned to jump on her with a knife. Raven continued at the same pace, but her horse began to stumble. Hit by bullet fire, she would soon lose control of it. Thinking fast, she jumped high off her stead moments before it fell. With her blade in hand, she came down on the Red like lightning. She had landed on him with her sword plunging into his chest. Vernal stared at her in surprise, helping her get up.

"Raven !" She shouted, "We need the tanks !"

She didn't respond; because this is the moment the metal behemoths would make their appearance. She looked back. The line of Mark Vs made their way to the zone of action, trampling the corpses that happened to be in their way. Their cannons sung, blasting away rows of men at once. No matter how much the Reds fired, their bullets bounced off their armor.

She looked back at Vernal, expecting a passionate cry at the sight of backup. Yet, she looked at her in a face that seemed to show sadness. Suddenly, her body fell on Raven's in a sort of embrace. The Voron didn't understand, until she looked at her hand that touched Vernal's back, covered in fresh blood. For a moment, the deafening sounds of war faded away as a terrible realization hit her.

…

Qrow had not taken down a single enemy before a White in his tsarist uniform kicked him down the ground. The man who was probably driven half-mad at this point, resulting in him running around with his spiked club. Qrow could let him batter him, or shoot him down with his revolver.

In those few seconds, he thought about doing nothing, yet the attacking man still fell. Dima, with his rifle in hand, had been his savior. He gave Qrow back his rifle. From the look on his face and how his hands trembled, this is the first man he shot.

"S-sir," He said, "Everything alright ?"

He could barely hear anything in this mess. "Don't call me sir-

A loud rumbling noise made its way towards them. He signaled Dima to drop the ground in the little trench they were in. A steel monster made its way above them, ready to blow them to bits if they hadn't dropped down. After it passed, Dima pulled his anti-tank grenade, a stick made up of multiple explosives. He ran towards the back of a tank with the stick hand, shouting along the way. Qrow ran after him in panic.

"Dima, you moron, wait ! No !"

He was right behind the vehicle, ready to jam the explosives up its back. His hand completed the motion of throwing away the stick, but Qrow grabbed him from behind to try to pull him back immediately. His vision was hit by a flash, before he and Dima still in his hands were pushed back by a violent blast that emerged from the tank and the splashing of snow that came after.

They were thrown in a hole. Qrow's ears buzzed. He tried to get back to his senses. He couldn't tell how long he stayed there with Dima's body on him, but he soon realized that Dima didn't bulge and pulled him off him. He looked at the young man. He was still breathing. Qrow noticed a pool of blood that he was soaking in. Dima's right arm was blown off.

Qrow could've move at all because of this sight. He just looked around him, watching soldiers march along. In one corner, something caught his eye. A woman was embracing another, right in the midst of warfare. Perhaps he was still disorientated, but it was hard for him to recognize the woman with the long dark hair. Once he did, he pulled the revolver from his coat and aimed at her.

Minute after minute passed, yet he did nothing. The other woman his sister was embracing stood there motionlessly. He was angry, yet it was simply impossible to pull the trigger. He dropped his firearm, remembering that Dima still lived. He ripped out pieces of both their coats, doing his best to wrap it around what remained of the young soldier's arm. He pulled him across his shoulders, running back as a call of retreat came. He was still angry, but he could only leave Raven to her own devices.

…

Vernal lay on the cathedral's floor, with Raven at her side. Snow had fallen once again as the enemy ran back. She gripped her subordinate's hand firmly, watching over her. Some time had already passed. She had patched up her wounds earlier, but she knew that it would do no good.

"Raven ? … "

Her voice was faint, fleeting.

"It looks like you're crying."

The Voron looked down, saddened by the other female's state.

"You're only seeing things. You need to rest."

"You're not much of a liar," She said, coughing a bit, "I've been a nuisance, haven't I ?"

"No ..."

"It doesn't matter now, does it ?" She smiled, "If you continue to survive at my expense, I'll be happy."

She had not answered, simply staring at the life that faded away from Vernal's blue eyes. She stroked the woman's face with her bloodied fingers. She thought of only one gesture she could still accomplish.

_On the road, I'll give you _

_A small holy icon_

_And when you'll pray to God, you'll _

_Put in right in front of you_

_While preparing for a dangerous battle, _

_Remember your mother_

_Sleep, my good boy, my beautiful_

_Good night, sleep tight_

_Good night, sleep tight_

She sang and sang, until she couldn't feel anything from Vernal's body. Slowly, she finally closed the woman's eyes.

…

Dima finally awoke, puzzled. Perhaps he expected that would die with his monumentally stupid move of heroism, but Qrow had thankfully managed to save him. The older man was sitting and drinking next to him in this building that was turned into a sort of medical center.

"You're seriously lucky, kid," Qrow said harshly, "If I wasn't there, no one would've bothered to pick you up.

The boy laughed. "I guess I did get a bit ahead of myself, but I didn't intend to die. I wanted to do my duty as a soldier of the people. Trading my arm for that purpose isn't so bad."

"I'll never understand that," Qrow took a sip, "Just be glad you won't have to go through this hell again."

"You know, sir," He smiled, "You have a soul of a grumpy father. Well, are you a father ? I've wanted to ask."

"I have a niece," Qrow answered melancholically, "She's a bit younger than you."

"Is she well ?"

"She is. She's far away from all of this."

Rubin was indeed far away, because he had sent her off outside of this country that had collapsed into endless fighting. It might've been painful to see her go, but it was needed. He didn't want her to fight. Right now, she would be traveling alongside a trustworthy companion, a good pup. All he could is trust her to take care of herself. He couldn't guarantee that he'd get back to her, but he did make a promise.


	2. Edelweiss

**1917**

Under the view of a full moon upon the dazzlingly lighten city of Berlin, its grand Palace was alive with the party organized for this particular night. Within the ballroom, hundreds of guest of the upper level were lost in conversation and a waltz to a soothing symphony that boomed in the hall. In truth, there was no reason for such a distracting event during these times of war. It was merely an effort to raise spirits back up again because of the concern for what was happening outside Germany.

Weiss internally cursed at this realization of how pointless these efforts truly were. She had been loosing patience for these traditional ordeals, where she would dress fancily in a glittering dress covered in various blues so that all could gawk at the Kaiser Jacques von Schnee's pampered daughter. The ways of polite, articulate conversation among these higher classes of society were drilled into her forever, but it was still so tiring.

She had been away in a quiet spot near the decorated table with a drink – a wine that she quite liked, but her father had called for her. She was heading to his side as he was speaking with a group, among which stood out a tall, young uniformed man with golden hair, though he wouldn't be noticed anywhere else. Military men had the same look to them, she thought.

"It seems the unrest among the peoples of Russia has come full circle," She faintly heard, "The results could indeed be quite beneficial to us."

It referred to the sudden series of revolts across Russia, one of Germany's current enemies. It is one of the very few events that she actually knew about in detail, largely because it shook the world. From what she understood, this would be a military disaster for that country that was large beyond belief.

"Weiss," Father had called out the young man as well, "I'd like you to meet our most anticipated guest: Prince Anatol of the House of Mantle."

As was the norm, she held out her hand for him to grace her palm with his lips. The man was quite young, not much older than her, she noticed. If he really was a soldier and not a sheltered royal like the Schnee girl, it would be surprising if this pristine cavalry hussar uniform decorated with the cross of the House of Mantle and a ceremonial-looking golden saber sheathed at his side was what he usually wore to battle.

"It is an honor to be acquainted with His Excellency's daughter." He said, showing a warm smile that she had no consideration for.

"Likewise."

"As I heard, you have been assigned to the battlefields of France," Father said, "You have been prepared for such a day, I assume."

"Indeed, but things have turned in our favor. Some of those fighting in the East are going to be called back to reinforce our armies for the most important battles yet. I am quite thankful that I was not present for the East at all, though."

"Are the Russians truly that dangerous ?" Weiss asked coyly.

"It seems that way. I have heard tales of Cossack cavalry ravaging our troops like predatory beasts, and then the unending supplies of infantry men come after them. A Russian general almost broke through our lines with a thunderous assault like nothing seen before."

"Those are merely exaggerations," Father almost laughed it off, "It is the cruel weather that is our greatest enemy on the East, not the Tsar's inefficient and barbaric bunch. They no longer even have the Tsar, anyhow, so the men are fighting among themselves and turning on their officers. Had you been there, you could've brought back one of their fur hats as a gift for my daughter."

Weiss quietly cursed her father's revisionism. Ever since this war started, he had been doing everything in his power to hide everything that was occurring outside the country from her or at least everything that didn't play up Germany's victories. She had bought it at first, but certain things had leaked to her. Horrors, defeats and death – it was vague, but she had understood that the war was beyond bleak. It was a catastrophe of biblical proportions that consumed the world. She didn't understand why he would try to hide it away.

"An attack is being planned in the West for next year," Anatol said and she listened closely, "A decisive blow against the English and French, I hear."

"It is certainly about time," Father said, "I have considered another visit to the troops at the front. This time, however, I wanted to bring Weiss with me."

"That would marvelous, since I could accompany you before heading out for my post," Anatol said, "Field Marshal Winter and her men would certainly be pleased at your arrival."

Her surprise at her father's suggestion of taking her to the battlefield was monumental, but the mention of her sister had pained her. Father had a disdain for her that he never tried to hide from Weiss. He didn't approve Winter's decision to invest herself in a military career, but she refused to listen to him and went off to join the fight. She hadn't seen or heard from her older sister for the past five years.

Father and Anatol gathered around a group, prepared to hail a toast. The Kaiser raised his cup, speaking first. "Let us celebrate the victories that the imperial army has achieved !" The people cheered.

She made an effort to hastily excuse herself to the men before storming out by the stairs. Her father tried to protest against her leave, but she didn't stop. Across the rows of steps, then the darker corridors devoid of life – the doors to her room were obstructed by the silhouette of a figure of a person with their back towards her.

"I expected you to arrive later," A male voice spoke, "Have you been sent away by Father ?"

Her younger brother showed himself with his refined posture. Whitley, clad in his own uniform, had appeared to her without any prior memo.

"Whitely," She didn't bother to keep up pleasantries in this privacy, "What are you doing here ?"

"What a warm welcome from you, sister," He showed his typical fabricated smile, "I am here for the celebration, of course. Father already knows I would be here. My time in Bavaria has been quite hectic."

"You should've stayed there," She said, "After all, Father had graciously given you that assignment."

Father had sent Whitley as a liaison to the Kingdom of Bavaria in the empire last year. Since he was too young to aspire for a military path, this is what was chosen for him. A feeling had grown in Weiss that he trusted Whitley with information and duties more than her, which only angered her.

"Yes, but the cases of civil unrest there and right here in Berlin are disastrous premonitions that only I is seemingly concerned about."

"Civil unrest ?" She asked.

"Of course, I forget," He chuckled, "Father is not fond of you learning about the goings on outside. Father has been making an effort to raise the war effort at the expense of the workers in the cities and the people. There have been many strikes, from what I heard."

"But there's going to be large attack soon … Winter will lead it, its expected to succeed. She can't fail !"

"Even our dear sister with her heart of iron can't fix the broken morale of the army by herself," Her brother said, "The people are loosing hope in the emperor. He is considered a failure, a shame to Nicholas."

"How can you say that about him ?" She shook, "He can't be blamed for all of this …" Though she couldn't admit, she had no confidence in what she was saying.

"Oh, but I'm not saying anything," He turned away to head for the ballroom, "You shouldn't worry, of course, sister. You are in the position to be the heir. The victory that will come with the new offensive in France will assure that. Unless, of course, the anger of the people consumes us first like it did in Russia. I have left a package in your room. It comes from Winter. It surprised me that she wanted me to deliver it to you, but it seems she still doesn't trust Father. Good night, sister."

She entered her room, lost in grim thought that had corrupted her mind all evening till now. The large window leading to the balcony still open, letting the moonlight in – it shined on her bed, on which the sealed package Whitley referred to lay there. It was long in length and large in width, making her wonder what it could be. A note was attached with it.

_To my dear sister, _

_Together with your Schnee spirit, may this protect you from dangers back home, as I cannot do so while on the battlefield,_

_Seien Sie vorsichtig_

With impatience, she ripped it open. Inside, within the first layer, there rested a shining silver-gray blade. It is the form of a rapier, but the hilt is fortified with four prongs that would encase the hand of the wielder. The engraved details are intricate and a title was written upon its hilt; _Myrten Aster_.

She was amazed by the beautifully crafted blade before noticing that another smaller object was wrapped around a second layer. She had not expected it to be a handgun. The designation of "C96" was engraved on this gun whose body was shaped like a block, along with the signature Schnee crest on its grip. The firearm was heavy, obviously, but she was still amazed when holding it. With the fascination akin to a child, she took it and aimed at her mirror. She saw herself, pretending to be a soldier. Then, it dawned on her; why ?

Why did Winter provide her with weapons ? She is, after all, in the safe have of the homeland. It is Winter that is risking her life, not her. Then, a horrifying thought came to her. Whitley thought of anger of the working people and soldiers that kept growing. The disappointment with her father, especially after Russia's autocratic ruler was suddenly swept away …

She didn't want to imagine it. It couldn't happen to Germany, she thought. However, after she learned some of what was happening in the world of the war, seeds of doubt were planted in her mind. Was Winter thinking the same ? …

"_Am I really going to have to use these some day ?"_ She thought about the weapons.

A knock to her door pulled her back. She rushed to hide the two weapons, putting them under her bed. She answered the door, finding a concerned Anatol before her.

"Is everything alright, Lady Weiss ?"

"Yes," She wanted to quickly dismiss him, "You can tell my father that. He sent you, did he not ?"

"In fact, no," He put his arm on the door, "I came here by myself, thought with his permission. I was worried. I thought … I thought I hurt you by mentioning Lady Winter somehow."

"Why would you think that, anyway ?" She felt forced to let him in her room. The prince had an unexpected, sorrowful look to him.

"I mean no disrespect, but it is somewhat known that there is a rift between the Field Marshal and His Excellency, that she did not respect his wishes – she is an incredible leader, of course, its just that I thought you were affect by this in some way … "

"You understand nothing," She said, "She is simply doing her duty. I wouldn't want to have qualms about it."

"Perhaps I truly don't understand anything," He enclosed on her, like a shadow, "But it doesn't change what I feel. I actually had the chance of witnessing you before, a year ago – you marched in the city with your father. You had such an air of indifference to you, yet I was awe struck, that is all I could think … "

The tall prince ran his hands up her shoulders, with precision and care. The space between their bodies closed, leaving him to lean in to attempt to grace her lips with his. For a moment, because of conflicting emotions, Weiss considered letting him do so and taking her to bed – but she snapped, breaking his lock with a sweep of her arm.

"No, no !" She yelled out, "You don't understand, you fool … But its true, I am hurt, because I never wanted my sister to go away ! I can't stand the thought that she might die any day from now in this horrifying war … The inconsideration of my father pains me, but you won't take advantage of that, so go away !"

She crouched down, shoving her teary face into the sheets, whimpering. The prince stood there for a few moments in silence, but thankfully chose to leave. She heard his every step before he closed the door behind him. She continued her silent cries, but an idea came to her.

In Germany, there lives the Einzbern family – relatives to the Schnee line, the heir of which Weiss had a very friendly relationship with. She could trust them, as she was going to take matters into her own hands. She would uncover what was truly happening in the country. If she could, she would intervene in some way. It no longer mattered if she would give away for future a Kaiserin, because she wanted to save the country from potential disaster. Whether the war ends in victory or defeat, she would not allow Germany to collapse.

However, before thinking of plans to see the Einzbern family tomorrow, she took out a piece of paper. She would write to her older sister, something she's never done before. She would inform Winter of her plans. If she trusted her younger sister with a weapon, she would approve of her personal investigations, Weiss hoped. After all, the so-called failing Kaiser, her Father, would certainly not.


	3. Red Dawn

**1915**

The British and their allies were foolish enough to attempt an invasion on the homeland of the Turks. In their arrogance, they believed that they would face a weak defense force from a so-called sick man of an empire, ready to run off at the mere sight of their mighty ships. However, they would never be like the Greeks and Trojans. Blinded by their hubris, the British would be the ones running back to their warships instead.

It is what Arslan Altan believed, as they did everyone else in the youth who joined the armed forces. In truth, she had wanted her taste of combat to be in the vast lands of the Caucasus, where their brethren faced off against the Russian beast. She imagined herself as part of the cavalry, galloping at high speed with a saber - or better yet, a lance, like one of her ancestors riding among the Sipahi horsemen during the reign of Mustafa I. He spilled blood like no other, earning him the title of Kırmızı mızrak.

Yes, that would be glamorous, but she was in the small village of Krithia a few miles away from the beaches of Cape Helles. The sun was setting down, and she watched Aegean Sea in the distance for a while before. Shadir came and tapped her shoulder, informing her that it was time to go eat. Arslan, Shadir and Bolin, three recently enlisted young soldiers who hadn't see any combat of the 57th Infantry Regiment, sat around the fire to indulge in the joy of simple bread.

"Do you still want to go the Caucasus ?" The lightly-tanned Bolin yawned, "I heard it's very cold there. We're not made for that cold, you know. They also say that the Russians outnumber us and the Germans together."

"If that was true, they should've flooded us all away like the sea by now," She said, "I feel stuck here. I can only stare at the sky for so long before it bores me to no end."

Nadir, with the complexion similar to hers, glared while drinking his water. "It does not matter how you feel. It's important to be here because we have invaders right on our doorstep." It was true; the enemy did launch an assault with their ships a few months ago as some cannon fire had already been released. From what they heard, though, their attack failed and the might British ships retreated. Things have seemed to quiet down.

"Their ships swam away," She said, "Do you expect them to send men up the beach right in front of us ?"

"Maybe their soldiers will drop on us from the sky." Bolin chuckled.

"You seek glory far too much," Nadir reprimanded Arslan, "You are not the Magnificent; this attitude of yours will only get you the same place as those men in Europe and our comrades in the Caucasus."

"You know no one of us is told what really happens in Europe. All you and I know of Europe are those Germans bossing the army around. Why does it matter how many Germans and Englishmen that we'll never see die all the way there ?"

Germany had been closely aiding and participating the reconstruction and reorganization of the Ottoman army, even before the war, all to bring Turkey on the same playing field as the European powers. By the time war started, new ideas were introduced, modern German weaponry and equipment was provided and German officers had a clear presence on Turkish military affairs. Arslan felt unease about such a thing.

"Germany helping us is necessary," Nadir rebuked, "We have an alliance, after all. What happens "all the way there" might affect us, all the way here."

"You truly model yourself after Colonel Kurmal, do you ? You reek of his cold demeanor."

It was obvious that Colonel Mustafa Kurmal of this Fifth Army had a great influence on Nadir. He felt that the Colonel was a man of great strength, not just for the years he served in North Africa and the Balkans, but for what he could do for the future.

"I don't see why that's a problem. He is a model leader."

"Maybe he got to this position through family ties. That's not too uncommon, is it ?"

"And maybe you don't understand anything," He lost his patience with her, getting up, "Maybe you don't understand that he is the face of the new Turkey. There is no meaningless Sultan or manipulative Pashas here, only him !"

"I'm sure you'll become a praised officer soon enough too at this rate," She relaxed with her hands behind her head, "Politics bore me, honestly."

"_Everything_ bores you, doesn't it ? Everything bores you, all except for fighting ! We three left the city together for the same purpose, right ?"

While Nadir and Arslan remained tense and at odds, Bolin was eating away silently the entire time. With his eternal peace of mind, he yet again held no side. He simply waited for a chance to patch the spontaneous argument between his friends. He took another loaf of bread and split it in three equal parts. He called them both to come closer and reach out with one of their arms to him with an open hand. A bit puzzled, they cooperated. He gave away the pieces of bread among them, putting it in the palm of their hands.

"The three of us do want something different, we have our own goals," Bolin said, "But like Nadir said, we left our homes together. We want to make the lives of those back home better. No matter what each one of us believes in or seeks, that is the promise we made to each other. We are together. Right ?"

Nadir and Arslan seemed to be at ease due to Bolin's words, eating the pieces he gave to them, though they still remained silent.

"What is it that you want, Bolin ?" Nadir asked suddenly.

The other boy thought about it hard, but shrugged in the end. "I want you two to be okay. I don't think I'm looking for anything else yet."

"I think Nadir envies your carefree ways," Arslan smiled at the two boys, "I think that's enough for me. I'll head out for a patrol."

Patrol, in theory, but in practice, she just wanted a moment to herself. There was a certain hill she favored not far from Krithia's encampments. She walked and watched the faint hints of stars up above in the darkened sky. Bolin was right. They are together, like back in Constantinople. It would stay that way.

…

She woke up, slowly, as she had for the past few days. However, the rumbling of the ground awoke her this time. It shook and a distant sound whistled in the sky, in the direction of the beach area. She looked around to find the troops in the khaki uniforms rushing from the protected Hill 141 with rifles in hand, their destination being the beach in the same direction. All this could only mean one thing.

She scrambled to grab a weapon of her arm, joining a nearby platoon out of necessity, as she didn't know where her own unit was. She didn't know where Nadir and Bolin were, but that was not the priority right now, she told herself. She didn't have time to think about anything else, because the unthinkable seemed to be happening.

It was the dim light of dawn upon the rocky peninsula. They had arrived on a plateau, where Arslan could finally see what the origin of the commotion and the thunderous sound falling from the sky was. She couldn't believe what her eyes showed her. There, near the beach, there were the ships. For all their talk before, they'd never actually seen the vessels. The sound came from their massive cannons of the floating steel behemoths, which opened fire again.

She and her group made their way down the hills to a level of dugouts and trench lines overlooking the bridge, all while the fire continued. She felt the instinct to immediately duck to avoid whatever what would happen when a shot was heading down in her direction. Her bashlyk head gear was swept away and she covered her head with her arms before. Dirt and sand splashed her, but after finally looking up when pulled from her terror, multiple of her comrades lay unmoving and bloodied.

The only choice was to run further, where a huge line of troops was formed with weapons aimed above the trenches in the ridges, while others operated machine guns. She took out her Mauser rifle from her back, joining in. From the high ground that the Turks possessed, they could see the rocky beach. Arslan observes it through the crushing noise of bullet fire; she sees them – across the open shore, simple boats were deployed. They really have done it. The enemy soldiers were dashing across the sand in droves, determined to break the Ottoman defenses with one swift push up the steep ground.

At this point, Arslan had not fired a single shot. She could only watch in morbid fascination at these soldiers that tried to break through. Many were already dead, their bodies floating in the waters and coloring it in crimson. The standoff continued for some time, yet she did not fire. Some troops could not fire anymore, because they had no ammunition left. A cry erupted right next to Arslan's right ear as a young man's head had been blown off, though he not the only casualty. Their defenses were not invincible. The fortress of Sedd el Bahr that overlooked the battlefield was being shelled by naval fire.

"I do not order you to fight, I order you to die. In the time which passes until we die, other troops and commanders can come forward and take our places !"

She heard that authoritative tone from a distant position within the Ottoman lines. It was simply insane, she thought. The enemy was making use of certain paths that lead directly into the Turkish dugouts, what remained of the squad surrounding Arslan struggled to keep on as fire grew more intense. She was crouched down, unable to bring herself up out of fear of getting her head shot just like the young man. She seemed to be the only one left around, as the other troops were running uphill towards further defensive positions or had been shot.

However, she winces in a different kind terror at the sight before her. There, in a ravaged section of this trench line, Bolin sat with his back against the wall of dirt. He was gasping, bloodied. Whatever fear was in her disappeared as she rushed for him. An enemy soldier was in her path, making his way towards Bolin. With his bayonet, the enemy soldier intended to strike him down. Arslan had left her rifle in the mad rush, but she took out her kukri knife instead, with its signature recurve of its blade. She yelled with all her might, alerting the soldier.

He turned to see her at the very last moment. He didn't even have time to change his expression – with the wraith of a lion, she plunged the knife directly and deeply into the man's throat, painting her arm with his blood and witnessing the man erupt in horrendous noises that resembled gagging. He fell and she simply left the knife there, running for Bolin.

His eyes were closed, but he was breathing. She carried him across her shoulders towards uphill. She felt bullets race all around her. She ran and ran, eventually finding herself in one area of Turk howitzer artillery pieces and FK-96 field guns, which unleashed fire in response to the enemy. She hears an officer announce that the enemy waves were falling back, allowing the possibility of a counterattack.

"Arslan !" She hears. Nadir raced to her side, helping her to put Bolin near other wounded, wailing troops. Nadir notices that she is bloodied as well, though he quickly realizes in disturbance that it was not her own blood. Arslan kneeled down from her depleted adrenaline rush and the heartbreak she felt over what had happened to Bolin. Nadir kept quiet, because he couldn't bring himself to tell her that he was no longer breathing.

…

Krithia was now home to makeshift graves, one of which belonged to Arslan and Nadir's fallen compatriot. They stood and watched over his tomb in silence, both feeling broken.

"The night when he shared his bread with us, he did think of a dream he had. After you left, he shared it with me. He wished to see the world after the war ends, but despite that, he would love this country forever."

The girl listening to him grabbed a puddle of dirt with her hand, the one for which they fought for. The only thing that could now reassure Arslan Altan was that Bolin had fallen within this homeland of theirs. This place would be a haven for his departing soul.

_Peace at Home, Peace in the World._


	4. In The Name Of The Tsar

_God save our noble Tsar!_

_Great be his glory!_

_Growing in power and majesty;_

_Tsar! May good fortune be_

_Showered upon thee;_

_God save thee still, Our Noble Tsar!_

**1916**

Some tens of million of souls were serving in the tsar's Imperial Russian Army out of a total population of over a hundred million – a Herculean effort was it to amass a force of such proportions, one which outnumbered that of the French, British, Ottomans and others, if only by a slight margin in the case of its greatest opposition in the Central Powers: Germany. However, there were two realities currently at play; it is primarily Germany's ally, Austria-Hungary, that the Russians are locked in a grueling stalemate against. In addition, despite the size of the tsarist army, so much manpower had already been lost. The losses were staggering, but that was their advantage; men and land, large enough to lose and still keep fighting.

Things were about to change upon these vast fields of the East, the tables would be turned on the Austrians with a swift offensive. An armored train had made its way to the sight of battle, packed fully with additional strength that the motherland can offer in the midst of the trial that is the Great War. The new strength would be a fierce battalion of women.

"It's a shame to see our army in such a state," Vernal of the rank of lieutenant lamented, "Short of food, petrol and rifles."

"It is confidence and will that also counts," Raven said, "That which we have chock full of. The rest is negligible."

Colonel Raven made a head count. The young privates Nebula, Dew, Gwen and Octavia were accounted for, brimming with enthusiasm, especially because passing troops looked over the group with admiration and awe. They were brought to the camps closely behind the trenches of the front in the afternoon, some of which were somewhat in disarray from current preparations. Horses dragged field guns and shells, accompanied by the movement of lines of fresh soldiers. A horseman of the Don Cossack Host made his way to the female group; Raven expected the young man with a mark across his eye named Saber Rodentia.

"Polkovnik Voron, kapitan Vernal," He saluted them, but he looked for the group's third commanding officer for a moment, "Poruchik Tock, you have arrived at a fitting time. All should be ready in a matter of days, as the general expected."

"Was it not possible to organize it all by the time the backup got here ?" Lieutenant Tock asked impatiently, almost derisively, much to Raven's annoyance.

"It is a grand operation," Saber said, "It requires patience and precision, unless we want more grieving mothers sobbing upon their sons' tombs back home. Polkovnik, make your stay here in the mean time."

By nightfall, the camps were alive with the carefree spirit of the soldiers. Around fires, they drank and sang – even at this point, where the Army experienced brutal winters, filthy trenches and muddy swamps from hot summers, there's an occasion to loosen up. There was also the possibility that these celebrations are a cover from the horrors of the war. Whatever the case, Raven had chosen to contemplate before the coming battle within her own tent, avoiding the ruckus outside, but she would be interrupted, as Vernal who was already drinking insisted her to come out.

"_You are a symbol_," She said, "_Keep yourself locked in here like a hound dog and we won't have anything to inspire the men._"

It made sense, of course. Raven and Vernal had been among those who distinguished themselves at the plains of Galicia, even among the Army's failures there. She had risen up the ranks, independent from the typical nepotism and scheming among the officer corps, though some had tried to bring her down along the way. She had met Vernal at Galicia, as well, a beneficial factor. She was prideful and somewhat prone to cruelness in battle, but Raven appreciated her as an aide and fellow soldier. She had a much less positive outlook on Tock.

They walked out for Raven to witness a large group of the soldiers gathered around, clapping and cheering as a duet sang a tune to undermine their Hapsburg enemies.

"Австрияки как вояки

Очень много стоят,

Столько наши их Казаки

Сильно беспокоят !

Лишь на этих кровопивцев

Наш Казак нагрянет,

Срязу мокра у австрийцев

Вся одежда станет !"

From how they were huddled around, the group was a mass of primarily greenish khaki of their uniforms, but they were other shades like greenish brown. After the song, attention was drawn to a couple who got together for the dance of the hopak. The female was red-haired private Octavia, prancing in tough knee-length black leather boots while her male partner holding her by the hand was in cheaper puttees. The young man broke away for a bit and sharply performed his spins and jumps on his own, even performing a series of intense squats, all while the surrounding crowd cheered. "Dance, ryadovoy !" A few males encouraged Nebula.

Raven watched, arms crossed, rather unamused by the commotion. She would only disapprove more once Tock chose to show herself. The mostly bald woman with a slight mohawk stumbled to this party with a bottle in hand, obviously already somewhat drunk. Her uniform was jumbled and a bit unbuttoned – God knows what she was doing in her tent, Raven thought.

"Let's hear it, tovarishchi," She addressed the crowd that greeted her cheerily, "Is it the tsar we fight for, or mighty Black Voron who beheads the failing Hapsburg dogs in the name of our country ?"

She referred to the colonel's ink-black hair and blade, the crowd cheered for the latter. "Oh, our tsar, our noble tsar Ozma," She spoke in clearly fabricated commiseration, "He threw us into the war, the one who isn't even Russian, now he looks to lead the troops himself ! Our tsarina, our beautiful, golden-haired tsarina ! The aloof Lady Salem can't even begin to notice how the dreadful mystic Tyrian she keeps so close to her family is !"

"She's a foreign harlot !" A soldier yelled.

"She's a puppet !" A second soldier exclaimed.

"She's the consort of a fool !" Others said in unison.

Raven's nerves were broken, her blood boiled. She always had a sickening feeling about Tock, the woman from the city of Petrograd. She was also arrogant, but even more so than Vernal could be, because she had no sense of restraint. She was incessantly fueled by sadism and brutality, yet Raven was not mad at that, but at her rebellious words. She was undermining things with these vile words that corrupted others. It was unacceptable.

"Cease this nonsense."

Those few words quieted down the raving group in intimidation. The young soldiers watched as the polkovnik glared at the rowdy woman, yet Tock only grinned.

"Why such a face, Voron ? It's only encouragement."

"When we rejoice over our successes, we do so in the name of the tsar Ozma," She pierced the ground with her unsheathed sword, "And when we mourn over our failures, the tsarina weeps for us as well. It's the force that binds us together. Thousands have died knowing that, yet now you dare mock them !"

"Or maybe that blind faith is what got them dead in the first place, don't you think ?"

Faith is what drove them to survive for this long, Raven knew, but it was necessary to teach Tock in another way. Tock was pummeled the ground from a strike to her face, delivered by her superior who had lost her patience. The crowd quietly erupted in shock, but did not intervene. Tock spit out blood from her lip.

"You really can't loosen up," Tock derisively said, "You can't see the truth, either."

Raven did not hear the woman's last retort, instead already heading off after pulling her sword from the ground. Once again, she chose to go on her own way. She couldn't tell if her words had changed the minds of the troops for better, or if they still took Tock's side. She hoped for the former. She felt that these words that inspired mistrust in their rulers only hampered their hopes for victory in this incoming offensive. She cannot imagine that this ancient order that had persisted for so long is finally ready to crack into pieces, so she would stubbornly stick to it, as tsar Ozma was ordained by god. It didn't matter that she had family back home that could think about instead, because they didn't matter here. Her brother, her niece – they were far away, so she had no reason to think about it.

…

As Saber promised, the short days would pass and the moment would come. Under the instructions of the wise general, the Russian army dug their trenches far into no-man's land just a short distance away from the enemy lines. A few platoons were waiting in those pits of dirt, those who were the strongest and bravest. Raven waited with her group, with Nebula and Octavia at her side along with a few others. She noticed that Nebula was shaking with her vintovka in hand. Octavia tried to calm her down, resting her hand on the shaken girl's shoulder.

"Are you going to cower in front of our Voron ? Of course you won't !"

Then the bombardment began, the Russian guns sung again. Unlike before, where the bombardment was prolonged and unrefined, this was brief and precise that would destroy specific points and obstacles of the Austrian trenches. They wouldn't be given the time to bring up their reserves, leaving them hopeless to stop the advance.

Raven and the troops rushed out and ran at full speed towards the enemy while the bombardment continued. They ran and ran, coming in contact with an opening into the Hapsburg defenses with a destroyed machine gun post. Raven, leading her squad, jumped in first.

An Austrian in his elegant and grey-colored uniform stood before her, baffled at the sight of an enemy soldier who suddenly appeared. At least, perhaps he was Austrian, or perhaps Hungarian. Austria-Hungary was the home of many peoples, it was impossible to tell. She gave him no time to react, leaving him with a hole in his head from her Winchester rifle. A stick grenade thrown from someone in her squad erupts, along with screams. Raven saw an infantryman seemingly ready to surrender in front of Nebula, only to be brought down the ground with her bayonet plunged into his chest. Other Austrians already began retreating, but Raven's advance wouldn't stop. The bombardment stopped, but only for now.

She signaled the others to keep going deeper in this well-built trench. They saw Hapsburgs running away from what to be believed to be their perfect defences, giving the Voron and her comrades an opportunity to gun them down in their back. They arrived at a field gun with its shells that haven't been touched yet. Raven could hear that other squads were making great efforts as well. However, only Nebula and Octavia were with her, tired.

She watched Nebula, sighing but relieved, climbing back up the ground to look farther ahead. At the last moment, Raven wanted her to get back down to cover, but-

"Nebula !"

It was Octavia who cried out, as Nebula's body violently jerked as a hail of machine gun pierced her. She fell, Octavia rushed to her side. Nebula couldn't respond, her uniform darkening from the immense lose of blood. Octavia wept, yet artillery fire erupted again. Raven jumped and got a hold of Octavia for safety. The thunderous shells fell down, though it was again mercifully brief. The retaliating fire the enemy threw went silent when the bombing stopped again.

Octavia clutched Nebula's bloodied body in an embrace, quietly whimpering. The dead girl's eyes were still open, yet empty. Raven couldn't say anything. Instead, she heard rumbling. She saw a bulky vehicle in rusty dark green. It was a Russian Garford-Putilov armored car, but it looked much more like a truck. The word чудо́вище was scribbled on its rear. It suddenly stopped, even though Raven expected it to continue forward. Out of the driver's opening, lieutenant Tock stopped out. Raven felt something strange. Tock was alone, yet Dew and Gwen were with her.

"What are you doing ?" Raven asked, standing up and confronting her.

"It's obvious, polkovnik," Tock said in a niggling matter, "I felt concerned. I've lost contact with Vernal. Dew and Gwen are dead."

She passed Raven, who was at a loss. Tock walked over to the grieving Octavia, who didn't even look up at her, still holding Nebula in her arms. Raven noticed something inside the vehicle. From where Tock popped out, she saw two bodies in a strange position in the faint dark. A horrible chill went down Raven's body as a gunshot came. She turned. She felt her heartbeat stop for a second.

Tock held her Nagant revolver in hand. Octavia was on top of Nebula with a bloody hole in the back of her head. Tock turned to cruelly smile at her superior. Raven felt her hands shaking, then her legs.

"Why ?"

"I've told you", Tock responded, "Blind faith will get you killed."

Raven thought of the night Tock fired up the crowd with words that scorned the country's leadership. At the time, she thought it was the effect of her typical disorderly traits and the influence of alcohol. But she thought about the strange aura that permeated the soldiers before the planned attack that Vernal told her about, there was doubt, feelings of failure for Ozma and the war. She remembered Tock's word again, building up the wraith within her.

"You've wanted this all along," Raven said, "You worthless, traitorous garbage."

She had time to look inside the vehicle again. The bodies were the corpses of Dew and Gwen. Tock aimed at her with the revolver, still flashing her grin.

"I wouldn't call it traitorous, since I didn't care for any of this in the first place. I'm doing what I'm paid to do."

"Paid ?"

"You know of these things, I'm sure, but choose to ignore it. Many lose hope in the tsar, the war. There are certain groups back home that want change, and know how to bring it. They know that the soldiers are tired. They know the soldiers can be swayed to desire a drastic change too … through blood, if need be."

Raven thought of the fact that Tock came from Petrograd. The city boiled with anti-tsarist thought. It was what her brother told her in a letter that she threw way.

"That's what the likes of you are up to now," Raven cursed, "Ruining all that we're trying to accomplish … You're bribing them with your damn lies."

"Says the one lying to herself," The vile woman laughed, "If what you're accomplishing is killing ours by the thousands, then it's a success ! Nebula would be proud. I've done what I could to coax our troops to see the truth. I can give you that choice … Will you listen ?"

"I won't bring our country to ruin."

"It already is," Tock continued to enjoy herself, "So die in the name of the tsar."

She cocked her pistol. Fueled by unrelenting anger, Raven sprung at the traitor. Tock was caught off guard, yet she still had time to fire, but that very shock affected her aim. Raven winced at the pain in her shoulder that the bullet flew pierced. She gave it no thought and jumped to grab the lieutenant, throwing the both of them to the muddy ground.

Raven pummeled the woman who had lost her gun with her fists, while she tried to break away and get the advantage, but the Voron wouldn't allow her. In this struggle, they screamed like rabid animals. She smashed Tock's face, her knuckles hurt and bloodied. Her enemy's resistance seemingly broke. She stopped, feeling the energy leaving her body. She was there, on top of Tock, who she was thought was dead.

"Y-you can't stop what will happen soon," The lieutenant coughed out blood, "This country will change … You won't live to see it !"

Tock held a khanjali dagger that she pulled out while Raven sat motionlessly and made one last effort to bring the polkovnik down with her. She aimed the dagger the woman's throat, but her vengeful words alerted Raven, who grabbed Tock's right arm holding the blade with one hand, then grabbing the sharp metal with her other hand that would cover it in red. Tock had no strength left to resist her. Raven pushed the double-edged back down on her enemy, and with a violent slam, it was brought on Tock's throat instead.

Voron looked at the woman's eyes. She saw them fade away, cursing her. She looked at her own hands, covered in crimson. She looked at the sky. Compared to the earth she was upon, it was untouched by death. She thought she heard Vernal calling out to her from behind her, saying that the Austrians were in retreating yet stopping in mid-sentence, perhaps horrified at what she was seeing.

…

She was holding the letters that came from back home, the ones she hadn't and would never read anymore. It came from her niece, Rubin and her brother, Qrow. Qrow's letters nagged about how he wanted to return and forget about the war. She couldn't agree. As for Rubin, she couldn't guess what her letters could be about. She never looked at hers before. Thinking about her young niece only brought Raven anguish, not because she was naïve and fragile in her age, but because Rubin reminded her too much of the girl's mother – her friend.

She died. Others around her died. Each time, she was the only thing left. Now that she knows that the system she's fighting for can be broken, she has to live for her own sake. Even if all others disappear, she wouldn't. She would survive.

_Notes : _

_\- At some point, I genuinely considered putting Port in the role of General Brusilov. _

_\- Saber Rodentia is an actual character, a guard at Menagerie. I'm trying to use minor characters from the series instead of creating people like Dima and Prince Anatol from previous chapters. _

_\- I own a khanjali dagger ! It's beautiful, from my mother's country of Georgia. I got it there. I'm an enthusiast of these things. _

_\- I speak Russian, but the way I translated the lyrics of that song in my head was confusing to me, so I left the way it is. I don't speak Georgian, though ... _

_\- The day I finished writing this, which is today, I still feel a bit tired from the drinks of the night before at a birthday, not mine. It was a weird night. I'm thinking that has affected the writing of this, but hopefully not. Maybe my Ruski genes are helping._

_\- This is the first chapter that broke the usual word count of two thousand words, but that number was never on purpose. It just happened. _

_\- Next chapter is maybe Jaune in France, unless I change my mind or something else gets in the way. This chapter took too long to complete._


	5. Homecoming

**1919**

Roman Torchwick understood human beings very well; it all hinged on who could profit from who and what could one gain from this or that, be it money, freedom or power. The Great War was the essence of this philosophy; borders, independence, and expansion or simply to destroy their rivals – the monarchs who controlled Europe had played a game with millions of soldiers as their cards and they were determined to win. After that, when the game turned sour as victors and losers emerged, they made a deal in Versailles to settle down. Growing up in America, Roman learned that you could always make a deal. After all, he had made one with the growing Gandor syndicate family in Little Italy at Manhattan to enter in an economic partnership with him as long as Roman accomplished a few favors in return.

But recently, they authorized his arrival to a broken Europe, which became a land of opportunities after the war. The larger war may have been ended, but it split itself up into a load of smaller conflicts. Revolutionaries, anarchists, despots and other ambitious individuals looked from where new weapons could be bought or who could do a job for them well.

"I'm quite sorry for the ambiguity, Mr. Torchwick," Mr. Sieben said, "It's just that, as I've said before, I couldn't trust anyone else for such protection."

"You can feel right at ease, Mr. Sieben. It's just a job for me, after all."

Klein Sieben didn't leave much of an impression; the stubby German former butler had commissioned Roman and his associates to guard his journey from this Bavarian region to Berlin on train for a hefty price. He had argued that hiring foreigners from America wouldn't pose any risk. They were supposed to protect Klein and his mysterious companion, but the bald man had omitted to introduce his companion or even mention their name.

"But whoever else you're carrying with you," He continued, "They must be really important."

"Well, I suppose I can't deny zat … Und that's why I must accompany my friend back to Germany, to Berlin."

"Ah, Germany, the birthplace of Löwenbräu. Well, I'm sure we won't have any trouble along the way. Ain't that right, Neo ?"

Roman's eternal job partner raised her Parisian umbrella to peek at him with her differently colored eyes, matching the contrasting colors of her hair. Neopolitan was no more than an adolescent that he had taken under his wing in Manhattan, but her skills in matters of a turpitude nature and her proficiency at hurting others was extremely useful. She communicated with him in sign language, as she couldn't speak. Her lips read "_Mr. Sieben is a funny fellow._"

"And if any unsavory folk do come our way, Mr. Sieben," He presented Neo, "They won't expect my dear underling here to beat a lesson into 'em. From their view, it's only a helpless little girl."

"Ah, well," The former butler seemed flustered, "Wouldn't it be ideal to avoid violence ?"

"I can't do anything about human nature, but at least violence is a language everyone understands," He put his cigar with his foot and looked at his watch in slight annoyance, "They're late, dammit."

"Whoa, 'scuse me, comin' through !"

Luck Gandor, one of the heads of the Gandor family, was gracious enough to provide Roman and Neo with extra muscle for the trip, but this generosity quickly spoiled the longer he had to be around them. Dee and Dudley got the station, almost out of breath.

"I said 21:30, 21:30," Roman pointed his cane at them, "That's what I said, so what's so hard about showing up on time ?!"

"Sorry, boss," Dee said, "We got into a little argument with a train station official or something, he wanted to know 'bout our packages."

"Yeah, and then we "convinced" the little man with the funny accent to let us go !" Dudley said.

"Oh, oh, dear …" Klein remarked.

Roman supposed he was glad that at least the large packages they carried weren't inspected, since the crowd on the train wouldn't be happy knowing that the two large and loud Yanks were carrying Hotchkiss M1909 Benét–Mercié machine guns in their cases. It was different from simply carrying a handgun like any other respectable gentleman, as Roman did in his white coat.

"Whatever," Roman sighed, "Gentlemen, and lady, all aboard the Argus ! And for the love of God, go easy on the drinks."

…

It was a vivid memory of a fateful meeting. For years, she was only a street rat, running along the dreadful, endless streets of the modern gospel of civilization known as the borough of Manhattan. No one cared for children like her, so she used it to her advantage to make something good for herself out of life. Her home was a slummy little corner of town, next to a few factories.

She dressed herself in ragged boyish clothes. She was small, quiet as a mouse – she became adept at following unsuspecting people around to pry at their exposed pockets and then disappear into a hole without being spotted. The people around these parts weren't that fortunate, so she mostly ended up catching some change and occasionally a dollar or two. Her most prized captured prize was a small sharp knife that she began sharpening on her own.

She used to favor passing by an Italian man's little shop. He sold incredible pastries, filled with cream or jam, most of which were from France. She grabbed one piece whenever she could to munch on, leaving the owner puzzled as to who was the culprit. One day, a fancily dressed man with orange hair showed up to the small shop. She watched closely as he put aside his black bowler hat with a feather tucked in its red band. While he was busy talking to the owner, she quickly scooped over and ran away with the hat.

She ran down an alley, stopping to look that no one had followed her. She put on her new prize, feeling confident, but she was tripped by a cane from behind. The coins she had in her pockets fell out. She quickly leaped back with her knife in her hand. The man had found her, looking amused.

"_Nice going, kiddo, I couldn't ever hear your_," He said, "_Looks you've done this before, like the other kids, but I'll need that back … Tell you what, why don't we trade ? Here, a little treat from the Ottomans." _

He presented her with a piece of dessert called baklava – she grabbed it without hesitation, munching on sweet layers held together by syrup.

"_So, you know these parts pretty well ?_"

She nodded.

"_You're good with a knife ?_"

She nodded.

"_Don't you wanna make a living ?" _

She nodded again.

"_Then can't we help each other ?_"

It was a fine time for reminiscence – she looked out the window out of ennui, even though there was nothing but the bright sunset. They weren't far from reaching Germany, but the former butler said that they only needed to reach the border and leave it at that. The two big bodyguards were sitting with Mr. Sieben - Dee and Dudley had taken a few drinks, but it didn't seem to be out of control yet.

"You know, mister, you ever head of the legend of Rail Tracer ?" Dee asked.

"The Rail Tracer ? … Is zat some sort of recital from the Midwest ?"

"Dunno, we heard it back in Manhattan," Dudley continued, "It's this little ghost story. The Rail Tracer is somethin' that chases trains at night."

"Ah, I see … " Klein seemed on edge, "And what does zit look like ?"

"Here's the thing, mister," Dee said cheekily, "There ain't no way of knowing. One minute, it can be a coyote and the other, the mist. No way of knowing when it's caught up with the train it's chasing. Wait, how does the rest go ?"

"It goes badly," Dudley said, "The passengers start vanishing, one by one … When there ain't anybody left, the train vanishes too !"

"How ghastly !" Klein exclaimed.

"And now I certainly wish the Rail Tracer would come for me …"

Roman said with tiredness as he butted into the conversation, but he was still eager to humor them. "It seems like you two forgot how the Rail Tracer gets summoned, didn't you ?

The two men looked at each other in morbid realization. "The Rail Tracer appears … when someone onboard tells the story … " Dudley said in fright.

"Oh, save it," The boss said, "Anyhow, Mr. Sieben, would your friend enjoy this ? A little gift to strengthen the deal."

He gave the former butler a bottle of red wine. "W-well, I'm sure she will, " He gave out his gratitude, "If you excuse me, I'd like to go check up on her."

She, Klein had said. She took the opportunity to stand up and signal Roman with her lips. "_I'd like to go check up on Mr. Sieben, too._"

He shrugged and let her be. She followed Klein from a safe distance, making her way past the rows of bored and sleepy passengers while tapping her umbrella in a rhythm. Klein made his way towards the passenger section and into his compartment. She silently clung to the wall and took a peek inside.

"I'm sorry for any inconvenience, my lady," Neo listened the German she could understand, "At the very least, Mr. Torchwick has been of great help."

She saw his prized companion – The slim, petite bright blue-eyed woman wore a formal uniform, with a distinctive crest on its chest, but the most striking feature was the woman's white hair, wrapped in a long ponytail.

Neo thought she thought she knew who this person was – she tried to focus on the uniform's symbol, which she could make it as something resembling a snowflake.

"I assure you, Klein, everything is fine," The woman said, "But I'm just not sure how I feel about these protectors of ours."

_German_, Neo thought tapped her head. _White hair_, she tapped her head again. _Snowflake_, she tapped it for the final time.

_The lost German princess ?_

Her realization came with rumbling of the entire train as it began to grind to a halt, with the reason for the stop being unknown. Neo saved herself from stumbling down and rushed back to meet up with Roman, eager to share the truth.

The passengers were confused and distressed, looking outside. Another train stopped face to face to the Argus from the opposite direction. Neo could notice that this new locomotive looked unusually bulkier and no sort of opening was visible, no windows. She pressed herself closer the window. Huge cannons, illuminated by the setting sun – the barrels stuck out, some kind of artillery guns and smaller machine guns covered the train's frame.

…

"Ah, hell."

Roman couldn't help but let out his first thought out loud at the sight of an armored train, which he then he figured obviously came from Berlin - Dee and Dudley, alarmed, were ready to pull out the machine guns in their packages.

"Keep it down, you idiots," He said to them, "Look who's got the bigger guns here. I wasn't ready for this kind of intrusion … "

He wanted to go look for Klein, but another arm kept pulling his own. It was Neo, clearly trying to inform him of something. She was jumping around, so he couldn't get a good read on her face, but he tried.

"_Ge … German ? Princess ?_"

"Wait, wait, what do you mean ?" He asked her.

Conveniently, Klein swiftly appeared to learn what the commotion was about, still by himself. Before Roman could inquire him, but another grating voice from outside broke his train of thought.

"Attention !"

Looking outside, the group of westerners took notice of a tall old man with disheveled grey hair and an eyepatch over his left eye coming out of the well-protected behemoth with a few guards who looked like German soldiers armed with rifles, grenades and steel helmets.

"Passengers of the Argus, this voyage is therefore halted by the righteous force of the Weimar Republic ! We know that among you, a wanted fugitive hides – the runaway Weiss von Schnee, daughter of the former Kaiser !"

"What's he talkin' about ?" Dee asked.

The soldiers were going by and forcing the passengers to come out. Klein went pale at the man's announcement, while Neo pointed at him in an urgent manner. Roman didn't waste any time. He approached the former butler, pulled out from the C-93 pistol from his coat and put it up against the man's forehead.

"M-Mr. Torchwick ?"

"You know, Mr. Sieben, I took jobs like this back in Manhattan without asking questions too, but I think I would've liked to know the stakes at play here."

"I'm sorry … I didn't imagine they would go this far."

"If she doesn't come out now, we'll take her by force !" The old man in charge yelled outside.

"You have to understand," Klein pleaded, "We're trying to accomplish something good for our country."

"I'm thrilled for you, I really am, but getting involved in some revolutionary nonsense - it's too much for my health, no matter the pay. I think we need a change of plans; I can tell Dee and Dudley to go grab this princess so we can hand over to the Hun there. Something tells me that they've got more in their pockets than what you've promised."

"I should have expected as much."

The reply came from a woman – the princess made her entry dressed in a blue uniform, fully calm and collected. Dee and Dudley stared at her, agape. Neo made the smart move by restraining her from behind before taking her pistol and sword, then putting the makeshift blade of her umbrella up against the fugitive's neck, yet the Schnee didn't bulge.

"Lady Weiss, you shouldn't have …"

"Dee, Dudley, cover us, we're going out to greet 'em. Neo, you'll be in the back. I'll be in the front with Mr. Sieben."

"You sure you wanna sell her out ?" Dudley asked, "I still think we can take 'em."

"Shut up and do it."

"Do you believe they will not consider you as conspirators in this situation ?" The princess spoke up.

"I'm willing to bet they can easily overlook a few things, especially after some negotiations. Worry for yourself, miss."

The group slowly stepped outside, greeted by the sight of the old man and a dozen soldiers with their rifles aimed and ready. Roman presented the girl to the man with the pronounced grey eyebrows. He approached the fugitive girl, his remaining eye showing, expressing strong amusement.

"I suppose I should say that it is an honor to meet you, Lady Weiss."

"I can't say I feel the same, Merlot, especially when I'm seeing a man who abandoned my sister."

"No consideration for the former Kaiser, eh ? Leaving behind a fool like your father so he can flee out of the country wasn't a difficult choice for anyone. As for the dear Field Marshal, her armed insurrection was a grave offense. She paid the consequences with her life, it was only natural. All that was left was to acquire the people's beloved princess to ensure them that the new system is not needlessly barbaric, like the Bolsheviks."

"I would've never accepted being your puppet."

"Then what else can a naïve princess such as yourself be for ?"

"My father made many mistakes, but I will not stand and watch as corrupt and vile snakes like you bring us to complete ruin."

"Do not test me !" He swiftly slapped the girl across the face, but she didn't yelp, "There is nothing you can do. The future is already decided, and it will not depend on the ancient traditions and feuds of the monarchs that started the Great War. It is built by the common people ! The Russians have understood this, so have the Austrians, Bulgarians, Turks and the Chinese. Soon, others will join in this effort to create a world free of impurities."

The Schnee girl paused for a moment, noticing that the soldiers behind Merlot were glancing at each other in doubt. "You have no care for the people. If getting rid of impurities means killing those that oppose and leaving the others to starve in a world of violence, then that is a grim future. However, I already renounced my rights as a monarch. I have resolved to help the common people build their future, not rule them."

"Say, mister," Roman interjected while still keeping the gun , "Since we're the ones that brought your precious princess back to you, wouldn't a little monetary compensation be appropriate ?"

"Don't be a fool, American," Merlot laughed, "You were attempting to transport her back to Berlin."

"Ah, but you see, we had no idea who we were transporting. Mr. Sieben had omitted to mention it to us, so don't you think we just victims of circumstances."

"Yes, you are indeed victims of circumstances, as you will be silenced for everything you've heard."

"The hell ?" Dee exclaimed.

"It ain't like I understood a single goddamn thing !" Dudley followed.

"No matter," Merlot was done with them, "Now, Lady Weiss, if you would-

"Soldiers of Germany !"

Weiss' cry alarmed everyone, she continued, unshaken. "I know that you've felt like you've been betrayed, like victory was robbed from you … But that doesn't matter, because the people wanted peace, but this isn't peace. We are crushed under the punishments from the countries we've waged war against. We are in distress, and leaving our future in the hands of those like Merlot who wish to keep their power won't make us happy ! The Spartacist movement may have failed, but there is still a chance. I was sheltered, ignorant, but I have learned and seen what the world outside the imperial court is truly like, and I am ready to face it. If you wish to shoot me right now, then so be it, but remember that Field Marshal Winter and I were on the side of the common people !"

The soldiers stood still, wide-eyed. They lowered their rifles, much at the dismay of Merlot. One man – the youngest among them, broke down and fell on his knees while teary-eyed.

"My b-brother … he was in the uprising," The shaking man held his face in his hands, "And I was told to shoot him, I shot him … "

"What are you doing, you fools ?" Merlot lashed out, "Are you going to side with this usurping child ? She's the child of Jacques von Schnee !"

"Yes, she is," A proud Klein Sieben said, "But she is not like him, truly."

"I suppose the tables have turned." Torchwick added, impressed.

"Damn you … Damn you all ! " Merlot's face burned with anger. He quickly pulled out his own pistol, intending to strike Weiss. Just as quickly, the pistol fell to the ground, bloodied. Merlot stepped back, holding his hand in pain. With grace of a ballerina, silence of a mouse and speed of a hare, Neopolitan had slashed Merlot's arm, making it useless. She stood before, her blade at his throat.

"No, don't !" Weiss cried out, "He's committed many crimes both during the war and the uprising, but he needs to be punished accordingly."

Neo looked at the girl and shrugged, tossing her back her weapons. A pair of soldiers took Merlot away, who was still yelling in retaliation. She turned to Roman Torchwick.

"You are a despicable man who was willing to sell me back to Merlot," She said, "But you looking out for your own survival."

As she described him, Roman glanced at Neo. "I wouldn't say it was only about myself, but I'm not exactly the righteous type, but I suppose if Merlot isn't an option, we can still accompany you, no ?"

"Money truly runs the world," She sighed, "I'm sure I can arrange some kind of payment for risking your lives here, I suppose. Would that be a problem, Klein ?"

"I suppose not … We can forget any potentioal conflicts that could've occurred today."

Weiss approached the crying soldier. Cutting her off guard, he clung to her knees, still sobbing.

"I-I'm sorry, Lady Weiss," He said, "My brother … I'm awful like the rest ..."

"What's your name ?"

" … Karl …"

"It's alright, Karl," She put her hand on his shoulder, "We're going to go back to Berlin. It's time."

…

The sun had fallen down. Roman took one last puff of another cigar before putting it out with his boot. He was thinking how he would explain all this to Luck Gandor back home. Although, there was still time to take another job that didn't involve European politics.

He felt Neo innocently clung to his shoulder, turning sleepy. She was wearing his hat.

"You know, I've got some cash," He said, "Maybe I'll treat you to ice cream, is that good."

She tipped the hat in affirmation, smiling.

"But you like pastries more, right ?"

…

Hope had arrived in the city of Berlin. Impoverished citizens, crippled veterans and many from the paramilitary Freikorps joined the marching protest, shouting out in unison. The wave of people was heading towards the Grand Palace where officials of the Republic hid themselves. They were escorting the princess whom they held dear. She was inside the A7V heavy tank, protected by the soldiers who were assigned by her sister to be her protectors.

The Grand Palace, Weiss remembered that evening from two years ago. That's when Winter gave her the responsibility of a weapon, that's when Weiss promised to herself to become more than a tool and the Kaiser's daughter. She would protect the future of her people.

The crowd arrived at the palace. She stepped out and triumphantly stood on top of the tank while the people cheered her. The line of soldiers still loyal to the current government who blocked their entry couldn't bring themselves to shoot - she knew that, but they still stood with their rifles steady.

"The benevolent Lady Weiss must be chosen to lead us !" The people roared.

A high balcony overlooked the commotion. Weiss saw cowardly old men, but another figure stepped out to watch the mob of angered people. He was in full control, as if he was the imperator of Rome. Whitley Schnee, the youngest sibling of the Schnee family, took up the shrewd ways of adults. The two siblings locked eyes with each other, like two predators. If it was not possible for them to build a future together, then only one of them would.


End file.
